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Shortly before Christmas, I had an remarkable episode. I believe it proved instructive. This happened at a get-together of a group of longtime companions, who are incidentally dental professionals, but it's not pertinent. The assembled crowd were all blokes, which turns out to be significant.

A Strange Situation

The location was a bar and eatery doing a excellent custom. A forgotten session was shared by the group. Fine cuisine, good libations and unexpectedly amusing anecdotes about oral health. Naturally, the moment came for excursions to the male facilities. Those who departed, I vaguely observed, seemed to be gone a long time. I didn't ponder the reason this was, but when it came to me next, everything was revealed.

Rounding the corner, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the men's restroom. Not a single person waiting for the female facilities, but a considerable queue for the gents'. What fresh hell was this? This was not a reality any of us in this queue knew.

A Sample of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither court nor expect pity from any female reader here. I am obviously cognizant that, for females, being forced to wait to use a public toilet is standard practice. On countless occasions have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the same establishment have to do the opposite?

Beyond the annoyance of needing to wait to use a toilet, there’s a whiff of embarrassment about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was truly enlightening to have a sample of it myself, seeing the women breeze through the entrance while I was forced to line up dutifully in queue with my mates, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and checking our mobile devices.

The Genre of Lavatory Queue Chitchat

There’s a complete style of dialogue here – toilet queue chitchat – of which men have minimal experience. Women, I presume, have developed skills to be rather good at it, sharing small talk and an notable comment or two.

On this I’ve polled some women of my circle. The consensus is that within-the-line interaction is confined to the odd exasperated look and the comment: “Fuck this, I’m going to use the gents'.” A workmate told me it’s exclusively at the washbasins subsequently that discussion tends to break out.

Were I a lady, I’d waste no time on either niceties or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a public line merely for the privilege to use the toilet, I’d express my fury like there was no tomorrow at the sheer injustice of it. A handy measure for any advanced society would be gender parity in urination lining-up periods. I’m researching studies on this.

Comradely Interaction in the Line

During my time in my wait, I endeavoured to spark some male camaraderie going about this new state of affairs of ours. I clicked my tongue a bit, gave a weary look and remarked something like: “Ah, this is an unpleasant variation, isn't it boys?”

One person chuckled, a second looked blank, a third individual seemed awkward. Another gave a dismissive wave as if this was a further manifestation of broken Britain, woke madness etc. For the most part, quiet ensued. An individual emerged, fastening his trousers. The line shuffled up a spot. Two more men entered the end of it. I sighed.

A Knowing Exchange

A woman wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all clean and relaxed. It was perfectly okay for some. I smiled apologetically at her, attempting to communicate recognition of this reversed scenario. Her response was: “Don’t look to me for support, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and at that point I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she did not utter that. She didn’t say nothing. But I believe that’s what she was implying. And I really could not blame her.